


Cross Your Heart

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Undertale (Video Game), underswap
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Bittersweet, Brotherly Love, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Jealousy, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Murder, Non-Consensual Body Modification, On Hiatus, Papyrus (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Post-Undertale Neutral Route, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trust, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Undertale Neutral Route, Undertale Pacifist Route, Undertale Saves and Resets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Sans isn't jealous of Papyrus for finding his soulmate. His little brother has grown up and found what he needed. Time has deemed him ready to take the next step. So what is Sans missing that might prove he is ready too?Companion piece toThrough Your Teeth.EDIT: In hindsight I kind of regret turning this into a multichapter piece; I should have kept it to Chapter 1. Marking it complete until/unless I find inspiration to continue. Sorry!
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale), Papyrus/Undyne (Undertale), Sans/Toriel (Undertale)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

Sans is a great many things: magnificent, charming, intelligent, handsome, skilled, easily one of the Royal Guard’s proudest recruits…but patient? Patience is one of the few things he has trouble with.

Sans is not jealous of Papyrus’ accomplishment, finding his soulmate first. With all of the storms warring inside of him, which Sans has only recently become aware of, Papyrus has needed a victory. Observing Papyrus now with his arm curled around Undyne’s shoulders, Sans can see a contentment in him that has always been missing. That’s the way of a soulmate, isn’t it? They complete each other. It brings Sans joy that he can’t put into words, seeing him truly _happy_.

Yet, in some small, unspeakable way, it stings. He is not jealous. He’s simply…confused. It’s in his nature to question, to wonder, to dream. His little brother has grown up and found what he’s needed all along. Time has deemed Papyrus ready to take the next step. Thus the question remains: what is Sans missing that might prove he is ready too?

Like Papyrus, Sans isn’t one to show off his soul marks unless it’s necessary—for example, in the event that someone should imply there isn’t anyone out there for him. Alphys has faced that unfortunate predicament more than once. Her bare skin is a mystery that she’s taken to masking with her armor and leathers—not out of shame but to avoid the stares and repetitious questions.

Sans follows her example out of solidarity and to offer his soulmate their privacy. The soul marks feel like an important secret being shared with him; he doesn’t want to disappoint them by letting their confidences slip.

Naturally those closest to him have seen a few. Alphys checked him once to see that her own “emptiness” wouldn’t be contagious if he hung around with her. Papyrus and Muffet have become desensitized to them. They’ve lived together all these years; they’ve seen him exposed when injured or ill and they’ve been kind enough not to pry.

Perhaps it would be better if they did because without their help, Sans has had no luck puzzling out who in the world his soulmate could be. He knows everyone in town; he’s made it a point to introduce himself to all of them, even the recluses. He’s made friends with as many of them as he can—more than he can count on both hands. He takes pride in that, but there has never been a spark. Every One has a One and none of them are him.

He isn’t like Alphys. The words carved into his periosteum are proof that there is somebody out there waiting for him, but how can he be sure where to look?

He isn’t jealous, he reminds himself firmly as he watches Papyrus nip gently at Undyne’s cheek, a skeleton’s kiss, and then he snickers as her face turns violet. Sans isn’t jealous of them, but he is missing out! He wants what they have. He has such hope for double dates and meals at a full table and bustling game nights where all of them have a hand to hold.

He thinks on it while he patrols, his soul stirring hotly under his breastplate. He’s _ready_. He’s _waiting_. Papyrus wasn’t looking for his love and yet it was thrust upon him. Sans doesn’t like the laziness of that approach but if it works…How long can he bear to waste the days? He ought to take action, scour the Underground for them!

Are they looking for him, wherever they are?

It is then that a shadow in the distance catches his attention. He swats his skull free of his thoughts, squares his shoulders and picks up speed, trying to outrun his agitation.

In the aftermath of what follows, everything he’s longing for is cast to the back of his mind. There is a human, real, in the flesh, and despite his best intentions he can’t bring himself to take them in. When they show him mercy, he does so in kind.

He knows the law, he knows his duty, he knows their capture would be his big break to become more than a mere guardsman—a _knight_ in shining armor, but as they escape to Waterfall they look back on him and smile. There is a respect between them. That smile eases his soul. He trusts it. They’ve proven that they can be strong without doing harm.

They can be.

They _can_ be.

That doesn’t mean they will be.

They kill Alphys.

His best friend fights them and she loses and they murder her. Every beat of Sans’ soul is one that she should have had. How did she prove unworthy of their mercy?

He has let this happen. He let them slip past him. He was taken in by a sweet smile, he trusted it and let them through, and Alphys has paid the price of their admission.

A sick, broken part of him wishes that she had a soulmate to outlive her, if only for someone else to share Sans’ level of grief.

When Napstaton takes a stand against the human, broadcasting live, Papyrus stiffens. Sans doesn’t lift his gaze from Alphys’ dust cradled in his hands, but he sets Papyrus free with a simple “Go.” Now that the brothers know this interloper can and will kill, Papyrus’ priority is to ensure that Undyne won’t get in their way.

They destroy Napstaton.

By the time Papyrus reaches the lab, the human is nearing the capitol.

Should Sans not pursue them there? Is that not what Alphys would have wanted? He can’t find it in himself to take up the chase. Scattering her dust takes precedence.

The capitol rumbles.

The best and brightest of them disappear.

The people cry in despair and outrage and hopelessness.

Things are strange. The human is gone, as are the souls…and the queen. Queen Toriel is…

The people clamor for guidance. By process of elimination, they can’t help but turn to the one who has given them laughter and cheer all these years, who’s always lifted their spirits with his unshakable faith.

Their confidence should warm Sans’ soul. Crowned _King_ …That is far more outstanding than a knighthood, isn’t it? There is no one else more magnificent or more deserving of such a glorious title. He smiles as he accepts the crown and the cloak and the desperate fawning of his once-friends, now-subjects. He smiles _for_ them because how can he resist those pleading faces? They need hope now more than ever. Who better to give it to them?

Queen Toriel would be better. She had experience holding the title. She was their beloved monarch—gentle, steadfast and sure for so long.

King Sans was never given the chance to meet her. He has yet to sit in her throne, but he can’t draw his eyes away from it. It yawns, towers over him, so cold, empty. Beneath the folds of his new Delta rune robe, he quakes under the burden of the shadow it casts.

“Brother,” he calls out softly, hollowly. “Where do you suppose the queen has gone?”

It takes Papyrus a few moments to bring his head up from his paperwork. When he does, his eye sockets are strained but his voice betrays nothing. “Being in charge for so long had to be a g _rule_ ing job…She probably wanted a vacation.”

Sans should rebuke him for the pun, for old time’s sake. He should nod and say “Oh” in understanding. He should change the subject. Instead, helpless, hypnotized, he reaches out to brush his fingers against the throne’s armrest.

Perhaps he’s already started screaming before his hand makes contact or perhaps his voice only finds traction when he hits the floor. He won’t remember in the end. All he’ll remember is the unseen flame blazing through him. It devours him, strips his bones to the marrow, pries away the marks letter by letter. To death his soul is sterilized as it writhes and cries, _Dear One, only One,_ _Toriel, Queen Toriel_ , never to receive a reply. 


	2. Chapter 2

With a ragged gasp Papyrus wrenches free of a dark dream, hands clutching at the silken bedsheets of his palace bedroom. They slip and slide with his kicking, not enough warmth or substance around his bones, but his brother, the _king_ , had insisted on every luxury in their new home.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” he had said, voice a toneless rasp and eye sockets empty, and Papyrus didn’t dare to press the matter. Not now.

King Sans is broken now—not that he can afford to show it in front of anyone outside his own walls. If he intends to be brutally honest, Papyrus is both humbled and _terrified_ by his brother’s resolve. He’s lost a soulmate he has never known, been stripped of any evidence that she was ever there yet when he’s among the people, he gives no indication of it. He smiles, he laughs, he busies himself lifting the Underground’s spirit. Only Papyrus and Muffet know him well enough to recognize that his eyelights are shining with suppressed tears.

He does what he can to mask it in front of them too but living in the castle that once was hers, so close to him yet so, so far, makes it a challenge. Muffet, now instated as royal chef, had griped once about the white fur stuck in the kitchen drains, and Sans reacted as if she had backhanded him to the face.

“Well, I’ll clean it out myself then, if it’s so much trouble for you!”

Penitent, Muffet had caught his arm before he could stalk past her, pulling him into a tight hug, and Papyrus was relieved to see that he didn’t resist. With a shuddering gasp he clung to her, knocking his crown off with a rattling _clang_ as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“Shh, shh…I’m sorry, sweetling. I’ll get it sorted, don’t have a worry about that,” she had soothed, though it was plain in her voice that she knew how helpless she was to get at the root of the issue. Would that Sans and Papyrus were young again and in her care, when all she had to tend to were school assignments and toothaches from too many sweets.

Papyrus, meanwhile, treads lightly. King Sans doesn’t need his bonehead brother bearing down on him with any of his own trivial complaints. If Sans needs “Prince Papyrus” to sleep with the slippery, ticklish sheets, he’ll grin and bear it—and on the nights that sleep won’t come, he’ll duck out and prepare to attack the pounds of paperwork Queen Toriel never addressed. He wonders sometimes why and how it’s all piled up this way. Perhaps the queen couldn’t bring herself to face it alone.

Despite the queen’s loss, King Sans is not alone. Papyrus has never been good at consoling others; he’s never sure what to say, but he will ensure that Sans never gets a taste of _complete_ isolation. That might be the one thing to truly destroy him forever.

Papyrus isn’t alone either. He and Undyne carry the burden of the paperwork together. She hurries to gather and sort all records pertaining to her work for the royal family, eager to stuff it away in dark boxes. Papyrus looks on, bemused but unquestioning. Perhaps it’s the recent loss of Napstaton urging her on; she doesn’t want to linger on any of her old blueprints. If it means a lighter workload, he’ll take it—and he’s glad for her here. When his own grief and his worry for Sans threaten to drown him, she is there to help him break through and breathe.

(Sans hurts when he sees Papyrus with her. He doesn’t want to be an onlooker to soulmates united when he has been robbed of the chance. Still, because Sans is so much stronger than Papyrus can know, he says nothing. Sans invites Undyne to live in the palace with them, because why should both skeleton brothers be miserable without their Ones? Papyrus was suffering even before friends and allies were dusted. He needs Undyne to serve as some scrap of joy in this newer, darker world. Sans won’t turn her away.

Papyrus knows this; he’s never felt guiltier—or more _relieved_ —for his brother’s altruistic soul.)

At night, when the sheets skid at strange angles and the mattress doesn’t support Papyrus’ spine, Undyne makes it bearable. Her arms around Papyrus’ ribs provide a security and warmth that he’s unfamiliar with. _She_ feels like home, even if the bed doesn’t.

With that in mind now, he shifts, seeking after her nearest hand to squeeze. What he finds instead causes his last vestiges of sleep to scatter.

These aren’t silken sheets. These are his tangled, stuffy wads of blankets, run ragged and smoke-stained from years of use. Sans has never been able to get the smell out; Papyrus would know it anywhere.

He’s in his old room, he realizes as he bolts upright to the sound of a knock at the door.

“Up and at ’em, starshine! It’s time to—Oh!” As he cracks the door open, Blue perks up, eyelights as bright as his burnished armor—the armor of a royal guardsman, as always. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise! I didn’t know you’d be awake already! How’d you sleep, Papy?”

Papyrus can only stare at him, searching for any hint of sorrow and finding none. His skull throbs with a vivid spiral of urgency. “I—Headache,” he stutters.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. At least you’re up while the oatmeal’s piping hot! That ought to clear away the cobwebs. I’ve even deigned to pick your poison; there’s honey in it for you. Come and fetch it when you’re ready!”

“…Thanks.” His brother ducks out, whistling through his teeth, and Papyrus presses his hands to his cheekbones.

A second chance doesn’t seem real. Another chance for the human, for the kingdom and, most vitally, for his brother. Sans’ fierce vow, made a while ago now—an _age_ ago?—swirls through his mind.

“ _If it was my soulmate who came along, I would jump at the chance to be with them!_ ”

Now Papyrus has the advantage of hindsight, he realizes, a dizzy smile tugging at his face. He _knows_ where Sans belongs and who belongs with him.

All their lives, Sans has been trying to ensure Papyrus’ happiness. Papyrus needs to return the favor, he needs to do _something_ —even if that human stands in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frisk: *destroys Blue's chance for love and lets him suffer at the throne under the burden of loneliness and isolation, stressing out anyone who's left to comfort his sundered soul*
> 
> Also Frisk: It's Rewind Time


	3. Chapter 3

“Well…here we are,” Papyrus comments evenly, kicking one foot idly at the nearest leg of the NPT resort table. “Looks like you’re comin’ up on the end of the road. You must be excited, right? There’s no place like home.”

Nodding, the child smiles shyly up at him. In silence Papyrus studies their face for a moment. There’s been no malice in that smile this time but with their dark hair masking their eyes, intent can be hard to gauge. He doesn’t feel the old pang of dread in his bones, but he knows what they’re capable of.

At least they’re not rude enough to make any dangerous moves over dinner. Papyrus shuffles, casting only a brief glance at the silverware between them, sharp and shining under the candlelight.

“Still,” he goes on, “that’s not to say there isn’t some good stuff down here. Plenty of things to be grateful for: food, drink, friends…sometimes even more than that for the lucky ones.” At that the kid hunches their shoulders, pink blooming in their cheeks, and Papyrus snorts wryly at the unsaid implication.

“Nix whatever you’re thinking, pal. Napstaton outed me and Undyne to you in that first dance-off, didn’t he? She holds the only skeleton key to my heart.” As he winks, they roll their eyes in feigned annoyance. Papyrus lets the pun and the moment sit, tucking a hand into his jacket pocket for a cigarette.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” he questions as he lights it over the candle flame, though he doesn’t wait for an answer. “People brought together for a reason? Monster souls aren’t like human souls, y’know. Weaker, more unstable. You’ve gotten this far all by yourself, armed with nothing but your own wit and willpower, but monsters? We’re stronger together. Everyone needs someone.”

The first drag is always the one to calm his nerves the most. He breathes, watches the discharge color the air between them. The child blinks, eyes watering from the odor, but their gaze doesn’t leave his face. At least they’re still paying attention.

“Let me tell you a story,” he announces, settling his elbows on the table. “So my brother’s got me this sentry job, right? I make a few rounds, watch for humans. It’s kinda just one long smoke break, which is great, but I could use a change of scenery once in a while. Fortunately, deep in the forest, there’s this _huge_ locked door. You’ve probably guessed by now that I love a good knock-knock joke. It’s a perfect place to practice, but the reception really _hinges_ on an audience. One day I’m knocking ’em out like usual and suddenly, on the other side, I hear someone laughing—a man’s voice. It sounds kinda rusty, as if he hasn’t laughed like this in a long time.”

 _Aha_. Is that recognition he sees on the kid’s face? He can only hope so.

“Naturally I can’t pass up on an opportunity to let the good times roll so I keep them coming and he keeps laughing like they’re the best he’s heard in a hundred years. Then, after a dozen of them, _he_ knocks and says, ‘Knock-knock!’

“I say, ‘Who’s there?’

“‘Woo.’

“‘Woo who?’

“‘Oh,’” he says, ‘I’m glad you are excited too!’” Huffing fondly, Papyrus shakes his head. “Wow. It’s not like I haven’t heard that one before but I had to hand it to him. He put in some effort! We kept passing our best material back and forth for hours until eventually I had to leave. It’s a tragedy to let some of Muffet’s freshly baked chocolate croissants go cold. But this guy asked me to come again sometime, so I did. Then I did again, then again. It’s a thing now. He sets himself up with some tea while I have a cig and we just chat about nothing. It’s a nice time.

“One day, though, we got to talking about other things—fate, love, soulmates. This was before Undyne. I wasn’t really looking into that sort of thing, I told him. It didn’t seem like it was worth the effort. He was quiet for a while. Then he told me something strange. ‘It takes far more effort to convince yourself that you are whole when you are not, and will never be. Please, young one, promise me this: if a human ever comes through this door…watch over them and protect them for my sake. Won’t you?’”

The kid’s head is bowed as they fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, clearing trying to evade or at least distract the welling sorrow. Papyrus’ eyes narrow.

“I don’t like making promises. I’m not even on a first-name basis with this guy but…he needs someone, _something_ to hold onto and feel fulfilled, like all monsters do. He’s decided to hold onto you and your future because he doesn’t have anyone else. Do you get what I’m saying? That promise I made to him…Y’know what would have happened if he hadn’t said anything? Kiddo...”

It catches their attention when he pushes up on his elbows, drawing himself to full height. They have yet to see him like this, spine straight, eye sockets empty and smoke casting eerie shadows across his cheekbones as he bares all of his teeth in a grin.

“…Y o u ’ d b e d e a d w h e r e y o u s t a n d.”

He’s glad to watch them pale at the words, glad to see them flinch when he swats a hand to emphasize. “My point? Everyone’s important to someone. So because I’ve done such a great job protecting you, I want you to keep that in mind. Every life’s precious, human or monster, and they all have an essential purpose, even if it takes some time to see it.”

_Don’t ever rob my friends and family of that chance again. Understood?_

Slouching back, Papyrus kicks at the table leg one last time before moving toward the back of the room. “Well, that’s all I’ve got. Take care of yourself, bud, and take care of others. Someone out there needs you. Chances are they’ll be needed too before the end.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this chapter feels weird when I look at it. Can't really put my finger on what, but it accomplished what I wanted it to so I don't want to mess with it ^^"

This human…They are unlike any Toriel has fought before. No matter the blows, no matter how she antagonizes them, trying to incur their wrath, they resist. She wants this to be a fair battle. She wants her opponent to hate her for what she is doing just as much as she hates herself, but they refuse.

Don’t they understand who she is, what she has done? She can feel in her soul that they’ve found the coffins. She showed them the preserved souls herself. A scourge, a child killer…a _true_ monster, she is. Though she still intends to win, she wants the battle to be punishing and gruesome. She _deserves_ to be wounded.

(Six times already she has slumped on her throne under her servant healers’ hands. They are sworn to secrecy about the tears she has shed for the fallen children.

As they pour magic over damaged skin and fur, she always notices as they avert their eyes from her soul marks—out of deference, sorrow or pity, she cannot know. They must think of King Asgore when they see them. “How grievous that the Queen’s soulmate abandoned her,” they must think. Toriel does not correct them. She too averts her eyes.)

“I don’t want to fight you!” the seventh implores as the Queen’s flames spill through the room. “Please! _Please!_ ”

So they are of the mind to bargain and plead with her. A few of the others before them have too. Toriel’s hands tremble as she recalls the soul of Kindness, a boy who crawled to cling to her singed robes, weeping for her mercy.

But this one sheds no tears as they reach out with Kindness’ open hands. Even as they entreat her, they stand strong, like Justice, like Bravery. Their eyes burn just as powerfully as the fire surrounding them. They dance with Integrity’s grace past everything she has. If they fall down, they get back up like Patience and Perseverance did—and they seem determined to pull the queen up with them.

Seems talking won’t do any more good. It never has. _Talking_ , Toriel has found, only serves to bolster whatever network of lies she’s entrenched herself in to convince herself that this slaughter is necessary. It’s best if the human understands this. She wants them to fight for their life, even if it is in vain.

They do.

They fight for their life with greater strength than she anticipated from one so small. By all rights, they best her. None of the other children have brought her to her knees before.

It is then, when she is brought low before them, gasping, spent, dust lurking in the back of her throat—that they outstretch their hand yet again.

“Ah…” she whispers, defeat stinging her eyes. “I see how it is.”

If these are to be her last moments, she will spend them freeing her conscience. She speaks of her children, of the black void of hopelessness left in their absence.

She speaks of her rage, of the King’s rightful loathing for her. When it came to the ruling of the kingdom, they were _never_ of the same mind, she might admit, but the words fail to take full form.

(Her children were the best thing to come of her marriage. If there was no other way to bridge the distance between their souls, she and Asgore could at the very least share a love for their heirs. When the children were lost and that lone bridge crumbled, she shouldn’t have been surprised at all that he fled.)

“I cannot bear this burden any longer,” she laments. “I just want to see my soulmate.” But even if she were given the chance, how could she face them after all she has done? “Child, I have grown so weary of this war. Prove to me that you can do what you must to survive: take my soul and leave this wretched place.”

In the end she will not remember the choice they made then. She will not remember ever asking that of them nor will she remember the killing blow that comes from behind.

What _truly_ follows is Asgore’s intervention and rebuke and the arrival of the Royal Guard. Alphys is relieved to see the queen alive and well, while her fellow royal guardsman—Sans, if Toriel recalls Alphys’ reports correctly—looks to be in complete awe.

“My Queen—er, _our_ queen! Queen of the entire Underground!” he gasps, bowing so low that the weight of his armor might tip him over. When Alphys rolls her eyes and smacks him, he bolts back upright with a flustered laugh. “It’s my greatest honor to grace you with my presence!”

The Judge and the Royal Scientist are soon to follow. Standing among them, Toriel’s soul burns to see how much joy the human has brought them. Had she been given more time, she might have robbed them all of a wonderful friend.

A Temmie, it seems, may do just the same. Toriel can only see claws and fangs, each as sharp as the other, and empty eyes before the world twists into something unrecognizable.

Beyond that, all she knows is tumult, foreign magic invading with pervasive emptiness and sorrow—familiar, yet now given power. She can’t resist its call to arms, though her blurred, static mind can hardly deduce what she is fighting for now.

Suddenly…!

Cool, fresh air drifts across her face. Moonlight, pale, precious and pure, cascades across mountain stone, and the queen of all monsters feels a great weight lift from her back.

 _Free_. The barrier is broken. Her people are free at last. The human leads them out to the edge.

Toriel has seen the world above before, but the years of grief and duty have stripped her memory of its beauty. She feels her breath catch as she surveys the land, though she then thinks to turn her head toward the others. They are the first of their generation to see the surface. This chance they have to gaze at the vast sky is what she has been fighting for all these years.

It is a bittersweet realization that the dim night makes their expressions indistinct. Sans’ face is the only one she can clearly make out; his eyelights cast a brilliant blue glow over his wondering face. 

“Gosh…Those are the _stars_ , Papyrus!” he exclaims to his brother. “I’ve always wanted to touch the stars!”

Toriel’s smile softens.


	5. Chapter 5

The surface is already better than anything Sans has imagined, though he can’t help but wish that the barrier was broken in time to meet the sun and, more importantly, the human race. The queen has suggested that they wait to enter the city until morning, so as to make a better first impression on humanity. Greeting them under the cover of darkness may prove more intimidating than friendly.

“Well, why _not_ intimidate them a little? Show ’em upfront that they won’t be able to push us right back into the mountain!” Alphys declares. “We’re out and we’re _staying_ out! We need to start negotiations by drawing the line.”

“Now, now. We should not assume hostilities where there may be none,” Asgore protests, earning a glare from the guard captain. “The war is at its end. Chara is proof enough that humans today can find it in their hearts to be friends.”

“That is true,” the queen remarks, obviously startling Asgore with her agreement. “And it’s to that end that I will ask Chara to act as our ambassador to the humans.”

Sans can’t help but break in; his excitement for his human friend and the glimmer of opportunity leap out at him. “Oh, that would be wonderful! Chara will be the best ambassador—and obviously the best ambassador requires the very best of royal guardsmen protecting them! Perhaps, say, even a _knight?_ ”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets sounding so overeager. Will the queen scoff at him? Will she think him selfish or childish for focusing solely on his own dream? The barrier is broken! There is so much already in store that they need to think about but he’s been anticipating a moment like this for so, so long—

“You dork,” Alphys snickers under her breath, and now Sans’ cheekbones are turning blue. He can only hope the darkness masks it. It’s just his enthusiasm for the queen’s good graces that’s urged him to speak out of turn.

“It’s only a suggestion, of course, your majesty. You know what’s best,” he starts to backpedal, his smile sheepish. “Naturally I want to see to it that the human is given their best chance at success! I want to offer all I can give to assist them!”

If Queen Toriel notices his embarrassment, she kindly opts not to point it out. “The child has proven very capable of protecting themself, but I’m sure they would be grateful to have you by their side… _if_ they do decide to advocate for us.”

To Sans’ delight and the queen’s relief, Chara agrees to become the ambassador—after they have been equipped with a good night’s sleep. Whatever happened between white, blinding light and the barrier’s breaking, it seems to have exhausted them. Who are the monsters to deny their savior the rest they deserve?

Within a few hours, they have gathered lanterns, torches, a few tents and bedding from the castle to erect a campsite. It’s amusing to see how every trip into the mountain brings a larger and larger group of monsters back out. News of the broken barrier is already spreading; the nearest residents of New Home are eager to be among the first, stake claim to new ground.

By the time the camp is fully stocked and all of the new arrivals have finished profusely thanking them, Chara looks as if they might fall asleep on their feet. Queen Toriel finally intervenes for the child, warding the visitors off long enough to allow Asgore to whisk them into a tent. Sans notes the almost imperceptible nod of gratitude he offers her before ducking in after Chara.

Would it be so difficult for him to say a true “Thank you”? Sans wonders, only for a “Psst!” from Undyne to make him jump.

“Oh, sorry! I d-didn’t mean to startle you,” the doctor admits with an anxious smile. “I don’t know, I just saw you watching the king and queen and I—I was wondering…Do you think they’re ever gonna get back together?”

Sans blinks. “Well, they’re soulmates, aren’t they? That means their souls are certain to be drawn together again, no matter the struggles they’ve had,” he responds, though the words feel halting in his throat. Why is he so unsure? He knows that this is how soul bonds work.

Undyne doesn’t seem to sense his doubt; her eyes light up behind her glasses. “That’s what I thought! I-I don’t want either of them to be lonely. Maybe they’ll realize how much they need each other and figure out that they can…solve their problems together, better than they can apart.”

“Now doesn’t that sound familiar?” Despite himself and his distraction, Sans grins. “Go on, then. I’m sure Papy’s ready to cozy up or canoodle or whatever it is you do together—your first night together above ground! Won’t that be grand?”

As Undyne squeaks and backs hastily off with her flushing cheeks hidden behind her fingers, Sans heaves a deep breath and scrubs a hand down his own face to stave off a wave of resignation. All he has to look forward to in his tent is empty darkness.

He isn’t jealous. He’s simply…

 _Lonely_. That’s the impression he gets from the queen when she breaks away from the group to survey the dense valley of vegetation below. Her long ears are drooping, her shoulders slumped under her cloak.

She doesn’t deserve to look so downcast, tonight of all nights, and Sans isn’t ready to retire. He swallows against an odd flutter of nerves and inches closer to the monarch.

“Is something wrong, your majesty? Heh, I-I don’t see how it _could_ be now. Look where we are!”

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Queen Toriel sighs, though her smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she glances back at him. “It will be even lovelier at dawn…but I’m afraid I’m more preoccupied with my worries about tomorrow.”

“Worries? Whatever for? We’re finally going to be free! Tomorrow, when we show the humans that we want to be friends, they’ll welcome us with open arms! You’ll convince them.”

“Ah…I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that. It’s been a very long time since I faced humans amicably. My anger has blinded me for so long; when it comes to making peace, I’m afraid I may be a little out of practice.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You’ve already started making peace by deciding that you don’t want war. If you’re unsure of yourself, Chara will be there to help you! They may be a human of few words, but they always seem to know what to say. That’s why you asked them to advocate, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But after everything I’ve done to hurt them and their kind, I do not deserve it.” The crown suddenly seems very heavy on Toriel’s head as she bows it, staring forlornly at the edge of the cliff not far away. “I deserve nothing.”

Sans’ wrist twitches. Cautiously he takes it as a prompt to reach out, lightly resting a hand on the queen’s nearest arm. When has he become so bold? “Queen Toriel, you deserve the same that every monster does: peace, hope, love and freedom! Isn’t that what you’ve been striving for all this time?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, forgive me for saying so, but it seems rather silly of you to pursue those things for every monster in the Underground _except_ yourself.”


End file.
